


the good times

by bluebeholder



Series: the accidental epic [29]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Everyone Ends Up Sunburnt, F/M, Family Bonding, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Road Trips, World Travel, background politics, regular updates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2019-01-27 22:25:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12591864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebeholder/pseuds/bluebeholder
Summary: In the epilogue ofa better mirror, the Suitcase Family set off on another journey around the world. The story has finally caught up to itself: this is the story of that particular suitcase road trip. Told in a series of eight short stories, we'll see the journey that carries the crew from the coast of Mozambique to the middle of the Australian Outback. There will be background politics, family feelings, nostalgia for old times, and some foreshadowing for future times.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> HI, EVERYBODY!!!!!
> 
> It's good to jump back into the world of the Accidental Epic. This is...what honestly probably could have been a full 50-k-plus story, but isn't. I'll be posting throughout the month: 1, 5, 10, 15, 20, 25, 30 AND December 1. So my usual punishing update schedule, honestly. 
> 
> One warning: although this is obviously pairing-tagged because there are three lovesick couples in the crew, I wrote to focus primarily on _non-romantic_ ships. I hope you enjoy it, regardless!!  <3
> 
> Credit to All Time Low for the title. And for the number of times I cried writing the final chapter of this story.
> 
> _I never want to leave this sunset town  
>  But one day the time may come  
> And I'll take you at your word  
> And carry on  
> I'll hate the goodbye  
> But I won't forget the good times  
> I won't forget the good times_

“I didn’t expect this place to be quite so…desolate,” Graves says, looking around, up and down the beach. There are no footprints on the sand but theirs.

“Well, I had to make sure that the eggs would be well away from predators,” Newt says. “Of course nowhere is truly safe, but at least out here there’s no people to complicate things.”

Queenie, busy taking off her shoes, spares them half a glance. “We’re people to complicate things.” She wiggles her toes in the sand.

“You know what I mean!” Newt says, tossing a shell at her. She catches it with a laugh and turns it over in her hand before tucking it in her pocket.

“Mozambique, of all places,” Jacob says. He shakes his head. “Who knew I’d end up here?”

Tina, hauling a tent out of the suitcase with Credence’s assistance, calls, “I did!”

“Stop chattering and carry your end!” Credence, still inside the suitcase, yells. Graves watches, highly amused, as Tina drags the fabric out and Credence emerges bit by bit from the suitcase. He pops out at last and, with his legs below the knee still in the suitcase, collapses melodramatically on the sand.

Squinting into the sun, Jacob points down the beach. “That big mound of sand where you buried the eggs?”

“That’s the nest,” Newt confirms. “Shall we?”

Jacob links his arm through Graves’. “Yeah, let’s go.”

Graves follows, letting the chatter wash over him. He’d forgotten just how easy this kind of easy friendship really was. Living alone with Credence has been a wonderful thing, but…this is a different kind of good. Graves is glad to be here.

The eggs are in good condition and Newt is optimistic they’ll hatch in the next fortnight. They pitch the tent at the edge of the beach. The sands are white, sliding down into calm, clear turquoise water. Inland, there’s lush vegetation, plants that Graves can’t name, whose Latin classifications rattle off Newt’s tongue. Birds, and plenty of creatures in the clear water. Eden, Credence calls it, and the name seems to fit, though Credence adds wryly that Eden never saw such a group of sinners.

Nights are clear and warm; days are hot and sunny. They pass the time freely. During the day, Newt and Queenie race each other in the calm water while Credence and Tina wander inland, looking at animals and plants, leaving Jacob and Graves to sit on the shore and philosophize. On some evenings Graves walks alone, far up the beach, enjoying the solitude, while the rest play cards and charades in the tent on the beach. One boring day Tina and Graves mock-duel on the beach; in a two-day-long rainstorm, Credence and Queenie teach everyone to sing; one day, Jacob and Newt bring back a butterfly with enormous wings that magically hypnotize the onlooker.

The rest of the world, at least for a little while, has ceased to exist. Graves finally has the time to sit down and talk for a long time with Newt, discussing Newt’s affairs and hearing about all of his myriad adventures, past and present. Credence and Jacob play catch all up and down the beach, with Jacob telling Credence about the latest baseball news from America and informing him with great excitement about the merits of Quidditch. Queenie and Tina _gossip_ , sitting on the sand and tanning in stylish bathing suits, foregoing the shoes and stockings that Graves is used to seeing women wear on the beach.

It’s clear that Newt and Jacob enjoy _that_ view just as much as Graves enjoys the view when Credence joins the two of them, lying shirtless on the sand with his pants rolled up to his knees.

It seems that they’ve fallen into paradise.

One evening, they light a fire on the beach and sit around it for hours. They reminisce about old times, and Newt rattles off a sonnet or two in honor of the days in Wyoming when they’d performed Shakespeare’s plays. It’s typical nostalgic camaraderie, but somehow it leaves Graves feeling unsettled tonight. He hasn’t thought much about the past, lately; things have been so good with Credence that there hasn’t been a need. But now, reflection is revealing some things that he’d rather not recall. He doesn’t remark upon it—but he knows Queenie sees it.

Tina pulls Newt and Jacob away to lie on the sand and stare up at the stars, while Credence puts his head in Graves’ lap and promptly falls asleep. Then it’s just Graves and Queenie, sitting at the fire together. Graves looks into the flames for a bit, and when he looks up Queenie is watching him.

“Do I look that melancholy?” Graves asks. He keeps his voice low, so that he won’t wake Credence and the other three—picking out constellations further up the beach—won’t hear.

Queenie smiles. “No, you just look pretty thoughtful,” she says. “You want to talk?”

Graves shrugs. “What’s there to say?”

“Whatever you want.”

For a moment, Graves genuinely stops and thinks. He hasn’t really spoken to anyone but Credence in some time now, and perhaps he’s forgotten the art a little. Isolation, while necessary, is perhaps not the healthiest choice they could have made. “It’s always difficult, standing in the shadow of the past,” Graves says.

She draws up her knees and folds her arms around them. “Yeah, I get that.”

“I feel like a different man, now,” Graves says.

“We’ve all come a long way.”

Graves shakes his head. “No. You don’t…that’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean?” Queenie asks. Her eyes are big and bright in the firelight; her hair, shorter now than Graves has ever seen it, shines coppery gold.

For a moment, they’re both silent. Graves needs to say this correctly. He doesn’t even really know what he wants to say. He’d rather listen to the sound of Jacob and Newt heckling Tina as she tries to teach them basic Astrology, or the sound of the waves on the sand.

“I mean,” he says at last, “that I’m not the man I was before Grindelwald.”

“Of course you ain’t,” Queenie murmurs. “He took you apart, honey.”

Graves feels it like a punch to the chest. “I know,” he says, thinking of all his scars. Credence could have healed many of them, but Graves somehow still wants them. Wants the reminder of what had been, of what had happened to him. He knows what it is to be taken apart.

“I mean he took you apart inside,” Queenie says. She rises and comes around the fire to sit down beside him. She rests her hand over Graves’ heart. “And you had to put yourself back together on your own. Ain’t your fault the pieces didn’t fit the same way again.”

He doesn’t answer, but puts an arm around her shoulders. She hums and snuggles closer. An ache that Graves didn’t know he was carrying subsides a little. He knows that he isn’t well, that he may never be truly well again. But just now, he knows for certain that this is enough. Here, with all his strange family safe, he can simply _be_. And that is more than enough.

The Labbu eggs hatch fifteen days after their arrival. The sand begins to shift as the sun starts to set, and they all move to hover around within watching distance. Newt won’t allow a light, since other lights might confuse the babies as they tried to reach the water. When the first baby emerges, it’s obvious that they wouldn’t have needed a light anyway.

A small silvery creature, nearly transparent, wriggles free of the sand, bursting out into the starlight. It has the same body plan as its parent, almost eel-like, but isn’t even as long as Graves’ forearm. Its arms are vestigial, its eyes too big for its head, and its teeth seem to be of a piece with its skull. And it glows: the same electric blue that it had in its egg.

It flops ungracefully down the mound and wriggles toward the water. It hasn’t gone four feet before a second and a third break from the sand. Graves watches them with bated breath: the first baby reaches the calm edge of the water and slides in. The second that it sinks into the water, it changes from an ungainly thing to a lithe and graceful creature, shooting off in a glowing blue streak into the darkness.

Each is a glowing blue creature, like blown glass come to life, and the sight is hypnotic. It’s hard to believe that these fragile, beautiful little creatures will become the titanic Labbu that they’d met those years ago in Lake Michigan, but so it is. In the dark sand and water, they’re as bright as flashing neon, but so much more beautiful.

“Only sixteen,” Newt murmurs, after the last baby has slipped from the collapsed sandy nest and gone into the water. “One of the eggs must not have been viable.”

“Oh no,” Credence says softly. “Is there anything to be done?”

“That’s the way of things,” Newt says. “With seventeen eggs, most of them will hatch. Two or three of the babies will grow to adulthood. Labbu live so long that they’ll find a mate for certain, and the cycle repeats. Nothing ends.”

Graves watches the flat, dark surface of the water, where the Labbu have vanished, and wonders which of the babies will make it. He can hope, of course, that they all will: but there are sharks and merfolk and fishermen out there in the sea. The odds are not in their favor.

“I hope they all make it,” Jacob says fiercely. “Sixteen Labbu, out there in the ocean. Imagine it!”

“I will,” Newt says. “But you and I won’t be around, by the time that they’re fully grown. They take a century to mature, and we’ll only see them if we’re really lucky, and live a long time.”

For a while, the six of them simply stand and watch the water, and wonder.

The very next morning, they pack up.

“It’s a long trip north,” Tina informs the rest. “We’ve got to go to Egypt, of all places.”

“The last time I was there, I stole a Thunderbird,” Newt says cheerfully, folding up the tent. “This time I heard rumors of someone breeding Serpopards. Classification quadruple-X! We’ll probably have to take them and run…”

Graves sighs, and prepares himself for the return of worry. “Please. Please do not turn us into wanted fugitives again. It will be hard enough going unnoticed as it is.”

“Don’t worry, honey,” Queenie says, taking his hand. “We’re all together. Nothing will go wrong!”

“Yeah, what she said,” Jacob says. “It’ll be an adventure!”

“Besides,” Newt says, “I have permits from the Egyptian Ministry. As long as I register my presence and call for Auror support, they won’t mind me trying to take care of the creatures.”

Credence smiles, bright and beautiful. “I, for one, can’t wait!”

To Graves’ surprise, neither can he. Looking at them all, at Newt with the infamous suitcase in one hand and Tina’s hand in his other, at Tina with her freckled skin and confident stance, at Jacob with his smile and sleeves rolled up for action, at Queenie with her daring grin and bright eyes, at Credence with his squared shoulders and wand in his pocket…it’s easy to believe that this will go right. That this adventure will be for the better.

They’re all together again, and that is exactly how things should be.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hypothetical Sequel progress update for the interested: just cracked 15,000 words on the NaNoWriMo portion of the Hypothetical Sequel yesterday, bringing the fic total to 67,000 and climbing. I'm very tired and things are going...somewhere. *lies down, tries not to cry, cries anyway*
> 
> Anyway. Welcome to chapter the second. There's a pretty big distance-and-time jump: take a look at a map, pick a point on the coast of Mozambique, and draw yourself a line to Cairo. _That's_ how far they went, as the crow flies. Assume that there were...detours. Because Suitcase Family, basically.

They come up to Cairo from the south, and entering the city is as dramatic as a picture. Credence has only seen one in his life, and he’s never forgotten it, even though it was before the talkies appeared and therefore not nearly as good. Newt, Tina, and Percival are unsurprisingly unfazed, being entirely too cosmopolitan. Credence finds his delight in gawking with Jacob and Queenie, who are both utterly stunned by all the sights and sounds.

At the docks they disembark from the steamship that bore them up the Nile and set off on foot into the city. The streets are largely unpaved and the buildings are close but beautiful. Streets go side by side with handcarts. No one speaks English. The styles of dress on the street vary wildly: there are men in traditional dress, men in suits with fezzes, and men who wear entirely European dress. There’s much more uniformity in the women, who go mostly veiled: “For modesty,” Newt informs them, “but not for silence, they write and agitate and go for revolutions as much as anyone else.”

“What a place,” Jacob says, shaking his head in admiration as they step into the cool shade of a hotel. “Reminds me of New York a little, but better.”

“I never expected to be in Egypt,” Credence says. He’s feeling a bit starry-eyed at the moment. In all his wildest imaginings, he’d truly never thought about this. Egypt had always been about as far away as the moon, and suddenly he’s here on its streets, smelling it and tasting it and reveling in its sheer _realness_. It isn’t what he’d imagined it would be: it’s better.

Newt, conversing with the clerk in limited and broken Arabic, turned back to them. “We’ve got a room,” he says cheerfully. “I need to go to the Ministry buildings and check in with them before we all go off hunting Serpopards, of course; we don’t need another New York incident! If you’re interested in the meantime, we might take a trip to the Giza necropolis and see the Pyramids.”

They are all definitely interested.

It’s an absolute journey to the pyramids from the city center for a Muggle who has go through traffic and navigate the city streets, but for wizards who can Apparate, it’s no trouble at all. Soon enough, they’re on the edge of the city, out in the sands, looking up at the three enormous pyramids. Credence thought he was star-struck before: this surpasses all his expectations.

“I had no idea they were so...huge,” Credence says, staring up at the pyramid. He knows he looks like a gawping tourist and he just can’t bring himself to care.

Newt laughs and claps him on the shoulder. “They are quite impressive!”

“Are you two coming?” Tina hollers from ahead, where she and Queenie have paused in the shadow of a crumbling wall.

“We’re hurrying!” Credence shouts back.

As he and Newt walk on after the ladies, stepping carefully in the drifts of sand, Newt glances over his shoulder. “It could be worse,” he says speculatively. “We could be moving as slowly as Percival and Jacob.”

Eventually the other two men do catch up. At the base of the Great Pyramid, they all stop and stare up. It’s a vast slope of jagged golden stone, bigger than any man-made structure has any right to be. Credence has seen skyscrapers, of course; he lived in New York City for most of his life. But this is somehow more impressive. It has a grandeur that no neo-Gothic skyscraper can match, state and ancientry that gives Credence the _shivers_.

Queenie presses her hand to the flat stone. “I can almost feel how old it is,” she murmurs. “So much time here. History…”

Tina tilts her head back, looking up toward the peak. “Like we’ve stepped into the past…we should climb, while we’ve got the chance.”

Credence stares at her. “Climb it!?”

“Come on,” she says in answer, stepping up onto the stones.

Percival shakes his head, but follows her lead. Jacob and Queenie do too, but Newt hangs back, so Credence does too. “Don’t you want to follow?” he asks hesitantly.

Newt shrugs. “I’ve climbed before. Besides, I don’t feel as if we’ve stepped into the past,” he says. He looks around at the surrounding area, and Credence follows his gaze, taking in the two only-slightly-smaller pyramids, the No-Maj tomb excavations, the scattered mastabas, the Great Sphinx behind them looking back toward Cairo. “We’re only standing in a graveyard.”

The wind sings over the sand and stone. “Oh,” Credence says. He sits down on the stone, and after a moment Newt sits beside him. The stone is hot, and the sun beating down makes Credence glad for the hat Queenie had coaxed him into wearing. He’s too pale for the desert sun, and even under the hat, the glare off the sand is sure to make him burn.

“You know,” Newt says after a few quiet moments, “I must admit that I’d far rather be tracking creature smugglers in the middle of Cairo than this.”

“I’m not surprised,” Credence says, smiling. “There’s not much for you to do.”

Newt hums. “But the others will enjoy it. Are you all right, not climbing?”

“Honestly I’d rather just sit with you.”

“Well, thank you,” Newt says. He stretches. “Tomorrow will be interesting. I’m going to ask Percival if he wants to go with Tina and I…”

“Of course he does,” Credence says. He looks up at the clear blue dome of the sky overhead, squinting a little against the brilliant sun. “Jacob said he wants to see the sights in the city. It will be plain fun for us.”

Newt smiles. “Enjoy yourselves on your stroll.”

“We will. And you enjoy trying to keep Percival on a leash.”

“A _leash_?”

“He has too much energy,” Credence says. “There isn’t much to do, when you’re living in complete isolation.”

From up above, they hear Queenie’s laugh and Percival saying something indistinct but clearly enthusiastic. “He’ll have plenty of time to use it all,” Newt says. “Smugglers are often reluctant to listen.”

Credence is about to respond, but pauses. “Hang on. I thought that Egypt and Britain were at each other’s throats. How do _you_ have a permit to track creature smugglers?”

“The Ministry has quite good relations with Egypt, actually,” Newt says.

Credence turns to stare at Newt. “What?”

With a heavy sigh, Newt explains. “It’s all very complicated. But there have been a lot of troubles in Egypt in the last years, and the wizarding community has been rather nervous of exposure. The Ministry has done its best to convince the British Muggle government to leave Egypt, which also suits the Egyptian nationalists…”

Credence sighs, too. “Nothing’s ever easy.”

“No,” Newt says. He looks up at the great wall of the pyramid above them. “History is a long line of people doing perfectly reasonable things with wildly unintended consequences, punctuated by people who are absolute bloody bastards and do terrible things just for the fun of it.”

Up on the pyramid, Credence sees Jacob standing and looking out over the landscape. Tina, Queenie, and Percival are farther up and climbing higher. It’s dizzying. Credence is quite happy to keep his feet firmly on the ground.

“I’ve been here before, and it never ceases to amaze me that these pyramids were built without magic,” Newt says, running his hand over the stone.

“They were?”

Newt grins. “Oh, yes. The history of Egypt—its very ancient history—is quite magical, but many of its achievements were purely done by Muggles.”

Credence grins back. “Hard for a wizard to admit, isn’t it?”

Newt shrugs. “Not particularly,” he says. “I find it impressive, how much Muggles can do. They’re beginning to outstrip us, you know.”

“They are?”

“They can travel by air now, and faster than any wizard can on land,” Newt says. “You know that magic can’t keep up with their weapons. They make art and literature and architecture, all without magic. I do my best to study their science—there is just so much that they know!”

“I’ve seen your periodic table of the elements,” Credence says.

“Oh, yes—that’s Charles Janet’s Left-Step table,” Newt says. He leans back against the warm stone, looking pleasantly languid. He’s already got a sunburn on his cheeks. A fine pair, he and Credence make. “Latest thing from nineteen twenty-eight. It’s not terribly popular among Muggle scientists, but I rather like it in its simplicity. Logic.”

Credence watches a group of Arab men walking together, carrying excavation equipment. He wonders what they’re going to uncover. “You’re the most practical man I’ve ever met.”

“Tina doesn’t think so,” Newt says. “She thinks my head’s in the clouds.”

“She thinks everyone’s head is in the clouds,” Credence says.

Newt laughs. “That’s true, I suppose.”

They laze in silence for a long while. Credence simply enjoys the sun, the dry heat of the desert, and the silent company of a good friend. He’s forgotten how nice it is to simply _be_ , without worries or cares, out and away from people. He likes it quite a lot. Perhaps he’s more made for desert climes.

Eventually the rest come down from the Pyramid and they make their way back into Cairo. Newt suggests a restaurant in the magical district, run by natives of Cairo. Of course they agree to go, and dinner that night is the best Credence thinks he’s had possibly ever. Hot flatbread with spreads of fava beans and herbs and spices, grilled lamb, falafel—he’s never even encountered half these foods, and is unsure he can ever go back to eating any other way.

“You’ve ruined him for my cooking,” Percival says to Newt, laughing. “I can’t even pretend to be this good.”

“A tragedy, you two will just have to travel with me forever!” Newt replies.

“I’ll sell the bakery!” Jacob says.

Queenie laughs. “You know Millie and Hubert could about do it without us by now!”

“Millie and Hubert?” Credence asks.

“The house-elves we hired,” Jacob says. “Millie runs the counter, Hubert works in the back with me. Couldn’t manage the place without them.”

“You keep house-elves?” Percival looks somewhere between confused and horrified, and Queenie lets out an alarmed gasp.

“ _Hired_!” she says. “They’re free, we pay them wages. We ain’t going to do what some of those people do!”

“ _Good_ ,” Percival says.

Credence has to have house-elves explained to him, and by the end he has a sudden sort of gladness that he didn’t live in the wizarding world as a child. Would he have thought the keeping of house-elves a normal practice? Even if Tina, Queenie, and Percival rush to assure him that the practice is severely unpopular in America, and Newt guiltily adds that it’s only really the old pureblood families who keep house-elves now, Credence still gets the shivers.

An idea for an essay occurs to him, and he mentally files it away. The idea that wizards have house-elves for servants is…uncomfortable.

They move on to other topics, and after a while, when the food is completely gone, they retire to the hotel. They’re in three rooms. Tina and Queenie in one, Jacob and Newt in another, and Credence and Percival in the third. It would be a good disguise, Credence thinks, for the other four to wear wedding rings; but that’s a solution they can discuss when they journey on from Egypt. For now, this will do.

“Don’t get shot tomorrow, while you’re hunting for creatures,” Credence tells Percival.

Percival, buttoning his pajama shirt, looks askance at Credence. “And what makes you think I’ll be reckless enough to—don’t give me that face, young man.”

“What face?” Credence asks, rolling his eyes expressively.

“Fine, fine, I’ll be careful,” Percival says. “If only because I think Newt and Tina won’t be…”

This is, in all likelihood, entirely true. And the next afternoon, when Newt, Percival, and Tina meet the other three back at the hotel, the scorched-off section of Tina’s hair, the burn marks in Newt’s coat, and the scratch on Percival’s arm say that none of them actually tried to be safe. But they’re happy and laughing, and tell stories of duels and Serpopards (now safely enclosed in the suitcase), and listen raptly to the stories Credence and Jacob and Queenie tell of their day. It’s good, and Credence is happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Newt’s comment about the women of Egypt writing and agitating and participating in revolutions is true. You can find Nabila Ramdani’s paper on the subject online; it's worth a read. (Citation if you're so inclined: Ramdani, Nabila (2013). Women in the 1919 Egyptian Revolution: From Feminist Awakening to Nationalist Political Activism. Journal of International Women's Studies, 14(2), 39-52.)
> 
> Don’t climb the pyramids in modern Egypt: in 1929, this was an acceptable practice; today, it’s ILLEGAL. You’ll get arrested. Just don’t do it.
> 
> [The Left-Step Periodic Table was created by Charles Janet in 1928](https://www.sciencenews.org/blog/context/old-periodic-table-could-resolve-today%E2%80%99s-element-placement-dispute). The reason it's so exceptional is that it places element 103, lawrencium, between elements 88 and 104 on the Periodic Table instead of appending it later. Because of the math that Janet used to create his table, he _also_ correctly placed the actinides before the majority of the elements were even discovered/created in a laboratory. Tragically, because he was publishing in French and was an unknown in the physics/chemistry communities, his work was largely ignored. Newt being Newt, however, I think that one unknown eccentric scientist would have a certain affinity for another. :)


	3. Chapter 3

“—shouldn’t even think about taking the Serpopards any further than necessary, that’s all,” Newt is saying as he and Graves walk out to the mountain habitat where the Graphorns live. “They can be rehabilitated easily!”

Graves’ voice is dry and fond. “I should be surprised that we’re taking an entire detour through Transjordan, but somehow I’m not.”

“It’s never a surprise when Newt wants to have an extra adventure,” Credence says warmly.

“It isn’t!” Tina shouts over her shoulder, to much laughter. She looks back at Jacob, who’s holding the other end of the ladder they’re carrying to the Bowtruckle tree for a pruning job. “Remind me to tell you later about the incident in Costa Rica that ended in Brazil.”

Jacob laughs. “Sounds like an adventure! Sometimes I’m real jealous of you, Tina.”

“And I’m jealous of you,” she says as they set up the ladder. She holds the bottom of it as Jacob takes the trimmers and climbs the ladder.

“You get to run around the world with Newt,” Jacob says. Twigs and leaves begin to fall around them and the Bowtruckles chirp and whistle. “That’s what I’d call the best of luck.”

“You get to live on Diagon Alley and have friends and parties and sleep on Saturdays,” Tina replies. “And that’s what I’d call the best of luck.”

“They say the grass is always greener.”

Tina smiles. She glances out across the suitcase, watching the others. Graves and Newt are with the Graphorns, clearly having fun; Credence is…not currently in view, but Tina thinks that he’s probably off in the desert habitat; and Queenie is raking the leaves up from the central plaza. The atmosphere is serene and pleasant.

“Sometimes,” Jacob says from overhead, “I think you and I are the only regular people around.”

“What gave you that impression?” Tina asks. “The fact that Newt decided at the last minute to detour almost all the way into Saudi Arabia, or the fact that Graves got excited about it because he gets to visit Wadi Rum and hasn’t shut up about Lawrence of Arabia since Newt pointed us south?”

“No, it was actually waking up to find Queenie talking about chemistry with Credence because they’ve both started reading Newt’s books,” Jacob says.

Tina laughs. “It’s spreading!”

“Like a cold,” Jacob says.

“The cold of _science_.”

“The nausea of knowledge.”

“The infection of information!”

“The cough of _enough_!” Credence says, going past with a pot of Kyactus sprouts in his arms. “I will hex both of you if I hear one more pun.”

Jacob looks down at Tina. “Yeah, we’d better stop. Wouldn’t want a—”

“ _Pun_ -ishment,” she choruses with him.

When Credence is done trying to hex them—the playful duel he and Tina have is interrupted by Jacob dumping a bucket of water over Credence’s head—most of the needed chores are done, and they head out into the day. Newt has Pickett in his breast pocket, and Graves is again lecturing about Lawrence of Arabia and his tactical skill. Queenie links her arm through Tina’s and off they all go.

It’s a long, hot day. Since it’s still early morning, there’s lots ahead of them. First thing, they release one of the Serpopards; as solitary creatures, the second will be released closer to Iran when they next encounter a free patch of territory where there’s no evidence of Serpopard habitation. The beast spares them not one glance, merely vanishing into the mountains. It’s satisfying to see it go free.

And then they do go to Wadi Rum. Tina enjoys the hiking. She’s become much more physically fit since going out with Newt, and it shows: Queenie and Jacob can’t keep up with her, and even Graves and Credence—who by their own admission exercise frequently if only to alleviate boredom—fall behind. And besides, she’s used to climbing sheer cliffs with her wand between her teeth now.

“I always knew you were going to be amazing, but I never thought you’d be an adventurer,” Queenie says when they stop to sit for a while near Lawrence’s Spring. Graves is animatedly lecturing by the water to a rapt audience of the other three men, leaving Tina and Queenie to laze in the shade together. “It’s just the best.”

“Sometimes it is,” Tina says. “And sometimes I…”

She pauses. After a moment, Queenie prompts, “Sometimes what?”

“I wonder if I’m doing any good with him,” Tina says. “I wonder that a lot, you know. He knows everything, he gets us where we need to go. I’m…an accessory.”

“Aw, Teenie…”

“Really,” Tina insists. “It’s not…new, either. I felt like that a lot, when you first left New York. I stayed behind, I had to catch up, I didn’t do…much of anything.”

Queenie looks hard at Tina and Tina looks away after a moment. The back of her skull is itching a lot. Queenie must be looking pretty deep. “You really feel that way,” Queenie says, sounding astonished.

“Yeah,” Tina says. She watches Newt and Jacob wandering the edge of the spring, studying plants and the rock face; Graves and Credence are having one of their moments by the edge of the water. “I mean, look at them. It’s their story. Your story. Not mine.”

“Tina!”

“If this were a novel,” Tina says, turning to her sister, “I wouldn’t be the main character. I’m not a good heroine. I’m not bold enough and I’m not nice enough. The author might call me _eccentric_. I turn up where I’m not wanted in all the wrong ways. I’m selfish and I want a career but heaven forbid I decide that I might like to be with a man. You see?”

Queenie’s eyes are filled with tears. “Don’t say things like that about yourself…”

Tina sighs and draws up her knees. “What am I supposed to say, Queenie? You’d all do just fine without me.”

It’s obvious that Queenie wants to argue, but she knows it’s pointless. Tina’s always been a melancholy kind of woman. She knows she shouldn’t be stubborn, but Tina isn’t really inclined to try to change this view of herself. It’s how things are. She knows it, and she doesn’t mind, most of the time. After all, she’s the one who watches Newt’s back, who’s Graves’ right hand. Most of the time she likes to think of herself as the glue that holds this whole awkward family together. But just now…

“Everyone would notice if the glue was gone, Teenie.” Her sister rises and kisses the top of her head, smoothing down her hair. And then Queenie goes off to explore, snatching Credence and Graves by the hands. She rightly guessed that Tina would rather be alone with these thoughts.

They camp out in the desert that night. Tomorrow, they’ll head north and get on the railway that will carry them further east. The desert evening is cold; silver stars shimmer overhead. Tina’s used to being in places where she has an uninterrupted view of the sky with no city lights to hide the arc of the Milky Way. Newt, Graves, and Credence also find little remarkable about the sky. But Jacob and Queenie, who live right in the middle of London, wonder anew at the sight every single night.

“I’ve just never seen something this fantastic,” Jacob says. Tina can hear him, at a distance; he, Queenie, and Credence are sitting well away from the fire with star charts. Queenie and Credence have embarked on a survey of the sciences, and apparently tonight is for astronomy.

Credence’s voice is firm, as if he’s lecturing. “All right, our latitude is twenty-nine point five three four seven north…”

“…and thirty-five point four zero seven nine east,” Queenie finishes. “Which means that the pole star should be…”

Tina stops listening. She’s really less than interested in astronomy, and tonight even less so than usual. Newt’s down in the suitcase, tending to the beasts; Graves is sitting by the tent, leaving Tina by the fire, alone. She watches the flames dance and thinks about the conversation this morning. That’s not a constant feeling, that feeling of being an…extra, but it happens often enough. What’s it like, to feel like she’s the center of the story? As if she matters, as if she isn’t an extra in the world? Tina really doesn’t know. When she was young, she was telling Queenie’s story; then she was an extra in Graves’; she was the hero in Credence’s, the antagonist in Jacob’s, and now the love interest in Newt’s. Tina has never had the chance to be the hero.

“Come over here,” Graves says suddenly. Tina looks up, startled; he waves her over.

She gets up and joins him, sitting by the tent. “What is it?”

“You look more melancholy than _I_ do on an average night,” he says.

“I’m fine,” Tina says.

Graves looks at her for a long moment. “I won’t pry,” he says.

“Oh, yes you will. You always do.”

“I won’t,” he says. “Whatever’s happening, it’s only my business because I care about you. You aren’t obligated to tell me anything.”

Tina’s quiet for a long minute or two. She hears Queenie talking about equations, distantly; trigonometry, the distances between stars. No-Maj mathematics, something that wizards by and large ignore. “You know,” she says eventually, “it’s silly that we don’t learn math at school.”

“It _is_ ,” Graves says. “You can intuitively cast spells at angles, but…”

“I know _so many Aurors_ who might actually be competent if they understood the basics of volume and linear measurement,” Tina grumbles.

Graves laughs. “Had to spend time dealing with Simpson, didn’t you?”

“How did he _pass_ Auror training?”

“That, I don’t know. Perfect marks on all his entrance exams but after that…”

Tina snorts. “It’s got to be a family affair.”

“Probably,” Graves says agreeably.

On her leg, Tina stacks pebbles in a little pile. “It always is,” she says softly.

“Is that what’s happening?”

Crickets are chirping, and a cool breeze shivers over the tent. “A little.”

“Queenie?”

“She told you, didn’t she.”

Graves takes her hand. “Nothing except that you were upset.”

Tina sighs. “I’m not upset. Just…feeling left out. You and all the rest…people would write books about you. I don’t know what I’m doing here.”

“I hope no one’s written a book about me,” Graves says. He shakes his head.

“It’d be a little voyeuristic,” Tina says.

“That’s how novels are.” In the dancing firelight, half cast in the shadow of the tent, Graves looks solemn, thoughtful, wise. His iron-gray hair is cast auburn in the firelight. Tina thinks, fleetingly, of a poem she half-remembers hearing once, of a king of kings in an antique land. “Writers throw open windows and look in on lives to try to make sense of their own.”

“Who’d want to throw open windows onto my life? It’s not like there’s much to see,” Tina says, and bites her lip. She didn’t mean to share that.

Graves doesn’t answer right away, which is nice. His thumb strokes over her knuckles and Tina swallows hard. She squeezes his hand tightly. “There’s not a lot I can say,” Graves says. “I’d say the same thing about my life. It isn’t that easy, feeling like you’re the center of your story.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that when you look at your life, it’s hard to believe that you mean much at all, when you see the brilliant people around you,” Graves says. He gazes at Tina, warm and fond. “I’d rather read a book about you than one about me. I suspect yours would be far more interesting.”

Tina huffs with indignation, but she sees what he means. She doesn’t argue. After a while, listening to Credence and Queenie arguing over whether one of the constellations is Cassiopeia or Ursa Minor, she scoots over and leans against Graves. He wraps an arm around her shoulders and Tina leans into him. He’s very strong, and solid, and even if nothing’s really been resolved…it’s good, at least, to know she’s not alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ([This map of the Middle East was featured in TIME Magazine in 1929](https://i.imgur.com/bzuYVYB.jpg). Entertaining. 
> 
> [This map of the Middle East is a British map from 1942](http://www.britishempire.co.uk/images2/neareast1942map.jpg). Far more serious. It’s not exact to the date, but it gives a good idea of political geography. We see transport routes, oil pipelines…and, hidden inside the word “SYRIA”, the tiny word (FRENCH). Something similar happens under the word “TRANSJORDAN”: you can see (BRITISH MANDATE) beneath it. These were independent states by technicality, but were in many ways locked into control by the respective states listed. The British Mandate in Transjordan didn’t end until 1946. This didn’t come up much in the fic, but I needed to give an idea of the geopolitical context of what’s happening here, if only because the repercussions of the things happening in 1929 are still being felt today. We owe it to ourselves to know. 
> 
> In that spirit, if you’re in the mood to learn more about the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan (as it is now known), I offer this: [The Office of King Hussein I](http://www.kinghussein.gov.jo/office.shtml), which is FULL of information—the history of the country, information about the country, the Hashemites, Islam, and more. 
> 
> AND ALSO IN THAT SPIRIT, I went the extremely Extra mile of looking at star charts relatively accurate to 1929 over their latitude and longitude to see what constellations are visible. I suspect that Queenie and Credence are looking at two different parts of the sky, if they’re confused between Cassiopeia and Ursa Minor…or one of them is being a troll. Take your pick.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M DYING A SLOW DEATH BY SLOW UPDATE SCHEDULE BUT I AM STICKING TO IT
> 
> *stares across the gulf to the 20th of November and weeps*

It’s late January, 1930; they rang in the New Year somewhere between Afghanistan and Punjab and are well into the Raj by now. The weather is plenty warm, despite the fact that it’s winter. Used to New York and London winters, Jacob is happy as a clam. It’s beautiful, up here in the north of India, foreign to him, but pleasant. Green and beautiful.

Newt is steering their course well clear of the cities. The No-Majs are in an uproar: the agitation for Indian independence reached new heights with the Declaration of Independence on the thirty-first of December, 1929. Although the wizarding community is doing its best to stay clear, according to the _Daily Prophet_ , tensions are running high. The Ministry of Magic has recalled almost all its people and a travel warning has been issued.

So here they are in the north of India. One of Newt’s friends, an Indian magizoologist who manages the Karkadann population in these parts, had asked him to come and look in on a situation where something was attacking the great Indian unicorns. They were on their way south to Bombay anyway; no one objected to the stop. Qasim and his mother Ofira had welcomed them in. It’s a rural little wizarding village, one out of the way where no one will recognize them. No one knows that Newt is here, and _certainly_ no one knows that the rest of them are here with him.

“We,” Newt says over breakfast, “are here to look in on reports of a Bhootbilli, not to get ourselves in the middle of a revolution.”

“Another one, you mean?” Credence asks dryly.

Newt gives him a mildly disapproving look. “We didn’t start a revolution.”

“I think we did,” Jacob says. He sets down the paper and wishes he could read the local language—Urdu, he thinks—because he’s sure that the _Lahore Star_ would have much more to say about what people who live here think. “I’ve heard plenty about things changing everywhere.”

“One man can’t start a revolution,” Graves says. “There has to be a certain amount of _really_ deep dissatisfaction with how things are.”

“Besides,” Tina adds, picking up the paper from beside Jacob and snapping it open, “it’s bleed-over from the No-Majs, anyway. They’re having problems, so we’re having problems.”

“Ain’t that why we have the Statute of Secrecy?” Jacob asks, shaking his head. “To _stop_ No-Maj problems from getting into the magical community?”

Graves laughs. “We all know how _that_ turned out.”

They do, and they continue to learn every day. This day is no exception. This tiny wizarding village is where the Bhootbilli—a ghost cat, Newt explains, a sort of chameleon-tiger—is supposedly marauding. It appears that many people here, living in isolation, haven’t met many No-Majs. Jacob, therefore, is relative exception to the rule. No one approaches him or looks at in him awe. Instead, they seem suspicious.

“Doesn’t it bother you, having everyone be so hostile?” Credence asks as he and Jacob wander together through the village. As usual, Newt, Graves, and Tina have run off together into the surrounding fields and forests to look for signs of the cat, and Queenie is taking the day to herself.

“They ain’t hostile, they’re suspicious. And I think they’re right to be,” Jacob says. He sticks his hands in his pockets. “Look at what the British paper is reporting. You think that the people talking about this around here are being kind?”

“Probably not,” Credence murmurs.

Jacob looks up at him. “Hey. Don’t worry about it. I’m so used to being out of place that I’d feel weird if I was somewhere I felt _in_ place.”

Credence’s small scowl is oddly gratifying. It’s nice, knowing that Credence thinks well of him. “I don’t like it. You’re one of us, not…ugh. Anyway.”

They stick to the two main streets of the village, for the most part. It’s always exceptional to see people working casual, every-day magic on the street; here, what’s very exceptional is that many people aren’t using wands. Jacob knows that it takes a lot of skill to go wandless. After all, Graves’ finesse is mostly confined to the moments when he’s got a wand in his hand, and Credence…is what he is. But around here, wands aren’t exactly in full force.

“You know the Europeans brought wands to some places,” Credence says. “And other places had their own traditions already. Looks like this place was one where they didn’t go for wands.”

“Ain’t it hard, casting magic without a wand?”

Credence shrugs, a small smile appearing. “Not if it’s all you’ve ever known,” he says. “Half the time I still don’t bother…it’s just as easy, when you’ve never had one in your hands.”

At the outskirts of the village, Jacob and Credence sit down and watch the world go by. Jacob doesn’t mind the quiet with Credence; the kid’s a thinker. He’s a loud thinker, though: being around him is being in the middle of a riot of magic, even when he’s not talking. Jacob likes that.

“I wish the baseball season weren’t over,” Credence says after a while. He’s methodically tearing a leaf into small pieces. “I like talking about it with you.”

“You should’ve been a player,” Jacob says. “The Yankees could have used a pitcher with your arm on the team this year.”

“You said they lost to the Athletics?”

“Pitching isn’t what it was last year,” Jacob says. “Could’ve gone to the World Series again, if they had a better pitching team. Even without Pennock pitching last year they still won, but damn if it wasn’t too close for comfort. And they didn’t even make the Series this year!”

Credence laughs. “Which left you rooting for the _Cubs_ , of all teams.”

Jacob tosses a handful of leaves at Credence, mock-scowling. “I can appreciate a good team, even if it ain’t mine!”

“I’m sure,” Credence says. “You’re fair-minded.”

“I hope,” Jacob says. “Ain’t easy, when the world’s the way it is, but a man’s got to try.”

Credence plucks another leaf and starts shredding it, too. “It’s not like the world’s been fair to you at all. It doesn’t deserve you.” A kid’s logic. Even now that he’s twenty-six, Jacob just can’t shake the vision of Credence as a kid. Maybe he never will.

“It sure as hell doesn’t,” Jacob says. He leans back on his hands. “But you know I don’t deserve the world, so I guess we’re even.”

“ _What_ now?” Credence looks at him askance.

Jacob thinks on it. Normally he doesn’t talk about deep thoughts. It seems like a waste of good time. But this is the kind of moment for lazy philosophy, he guesses. It’s not too cold, but not warm; there isn’t a lot of activity just now, as the day draws to a calm close in the village. And besides, Credence likes thinking deep things. “I just look at the friends I’ve got and shake my head,” Jacob says. “Don’t understand always why you keep me around, but I don’t ask questions. You like me, and I like you, and maybe I don’t deserve you but I’ve got you anyway. See?”

“Maybe,” Credence says. “I think…I might be a little too melancholy to really get it.”

“That might be,” Jacob says. He squeezes Credence’s thin shoulder. “I don’t always get it. Doesn’t mean it ain’t true.”

Evening brings Newt, Tina, and Graves back with Qasim. They eat dinner that night to the sound of two magizoologists arguing fiercely about the relative biting strength of a Bhootbilli versus a tiger, and whether or not either species would actually hunt a Karkadann. Jacob’s content to listen to Qasim and Newt going after each other: it’s light-hearted enough, but clear that neither of them is going to budge from their point. Qasim is insistent that this is a tiger; Newt’s insistent that it’s a Bhootbilli; they go back and forth together on whether or not Karkadann-hunting is even plausible.

“—a tiger actually leave a bite mark that small?” Newt asks.

“A small tiger,” Qasim says. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I’m not calling your expertise into question—”

“Well, I’m calling _yours_ into question.”

Graves leans over to Jacob. “They’ve been going on like this since we found the dead Karkadann foal,” he says in an undertone, smirking. “I always think of academics as quiet sorts, but this is ridiculous.”

Jacob smiles. “It’s just good to see Newt happy,” he says.

“That’s fair,” Graves says. He looks around, and Jacob follows his gaze. Tina and Credence are laughing at some joke Queenie told while Newt and Qasim argue merrily. “It’s good to see everyone happy, I think.”

“Yeah,” Jacob says. “It is.”

He helps Ofira clean up after dinner. Qasim’s mother doesn’t speak a word of English, so the man himself sticks around to translate for them. There’s not much speaking that goes into picking up dishes, though, and in short order the three of them find themselves sitting around in a comfortable kind of silence. Everyone else is in the suitcase, helping with the animals—well, Graves and Credence almost certainly aren’t helping, given the bedroom eyes they were giving each other all the way through dinner—which feels normal enough that it’s almost sad.

Ofira says something, raising her eyebrows, and Qasim rushes to translate: “How did you start traveling with wizards?”

Jacob laughs. “That’s a story,” he says. “Fell in love with Queenie and that was the end of me, I guess. Ran off with her and made some damn good friends along the way. I wouldn’t believe it if I read it.”

He gets a smile for that. Ofira pats the back of his hand. Her skin feels as soft and powdery as the pages of an old book, but her voice is quite strong. Jacob catches his name, but otherwise has to wait for the translation: “The truth is unbelievable, Jacob. But that makes it no less true.”

“Right, ma’am,” Jacob says. He glances at the suitcase. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He does keep it in mind. For all his confidence when he’d talked to Credence, Jacob knows his confidence sometimes isn’t what it should be. He can’t believe that he’s here, among wizards, that they want him around. He’s just a Muggle. Believing that he belongs is hard.

But the truth can be unbelievable, and still be true.

Jacob knows where he belongs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Punjab was a northern region of the British Raj, which had not yet broken up by the time that the Suitcase Family went through. From 1858 to 1947, the British Crown ruled a VAST area of the Indian subcontinent, over what is now modern-day Pakistan, India, and Bangladesh. This was the “British Raj”, commonly called simply “India”. Fun story: as “India”, the area was a founding member of the League of Nations, doing better than _United States_ which didn’t bother to join. In 1947, the Empire was partitioned, which marked the beginning of the end. The sun now set on the British Empire.
> 
> “Happy as a clam” is recorded in NEWSPAPERS as early as the 1840s. Which means it WAS in use at that point, and isn’t coming from the sometimes-dubious-source-of-slang that are formal dictionaries. 
> 
> The Bhootbilli is a marauding ghost cat reported outside Mumbai in 2010. I moved it northwest, basically, and that’s all. [Here's a report of the creature.](https://io9.gizmodo.com/5685033/indian-neighborhood-terrorized-by-cat-dog-mongoose-cryptid-the-bhootbilli)
> 
> If you’re interested in the 1929 Major League Baseball season, [look here](https://www.baseball-reference.com/leagues/MLB/1929.shtml). Gives nice statistics for the year and an idea of what was happening that Jacob and Credence might have talked about. Unfortunately, I can't provide statistics for the 1929 Quidditch season...


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everybody, it's time for another step on the journey...this time, we get a nice look into Newt's head, and meet another of his colleagues in the magizoologist community.
> 
> For those of you who are upset by that promo picture, I offer this: the Accidental Epic is planned out to the very end off the story. Nothing's changing. The Suitcase Family is still here. Graves and Credence are still here. This isn't the end, and I'm not giving up now. Stay determined. :)

“I don’t trust that it’s a Runespoor,” Jacob says.

Newt considers his knowledge of the Silencing Charm. “Jacob…”

“Look, Qasim was right about it being a tiger.” Jacob looks up at Newt, a grin lurking behind his serious expression. “You sure that this is what you think?”

“That was _one_ incident,” Newt complains. He flicks his gaze over the crowded street. Bombay is a modern city in so many ways, including having a multitude of automobiles. There are mutterings of revolution here as there are everywhere, but for now, things are largely peaceful among the Muggles. This is good, because if there _is_ an illegally trafficked Runespoor loose in Bombay, they’re going to need all the separation from Muggles they can get.

Just now, they’re going to meet a magizoologist recommended to Newt by a friend, whose name is Isha Deshpande. She attended Hogwarts on exchange, apparently, and has an English magical education. That sort of thing is rather common, still; the Ministry in England is open to helping deserving students. Newt approves. Getting across those barriers of culture and language to talk to each other is an important thing.

“Wait, hang on,” Tina says suddenly. “Newt—stop. Stop!”

Newt turns to her. “We’re going to be _late_.”

Tina’s craning around, scanning the crowd. “We lost Graves.”

“Oh, damn,” Credence mutters.

They all look around for a moment. “I can hear him,” Queenie says, “but I don’t see him.”

Newt sighs. “Allow me,” he says. He cups his hands around his mouth and shouts, “Credence, where are you!? Credence!”

Jacob stares at him. “Newt. What the hell are you—”

From the other side of the street, Percival shouts, “Did you really lose Credence!?”

“Found him,” Newt says smugly, looking at Jacob.

Percival cuts through the crowd on the street. “Sorry, I stepped away,” he says. “Credence, are you all right?”

“You are _so_ predictable,” Credence says, bumping his shoulder into Percival’s.

Queenie laughs and links her arm through Newt’s. “Come on,” she says, “or we really will be late for your meeting.”

On they go. They attract surprisingly little attention, for a group of foreigners. Newt’s rather proud of his lot. They’re all in the habit now of dressing as much like local custom demands as possible, in light, loose clothes that cool and protect from the sun. Tina and Queenie have come into the habit of wearing scarves around their heads, though not the saris that the women who live here do. Jacob and Graves, by some miracle, have been prevailed upon to wear hats like Newt does, out of simple self-preservation. Credence, young idiot, won’t: he’s burnt beyond all recognition at this point.

They meet Isha at her office in one of the city’s magical districts. The room is full of maps and books, with desk occupying the space by the window and a shrine in a place of prominence by one of the walls. In the space, Newt feels too tall, too gangly, as if he’s an intruder. This isn’t a foreign feeling, however, so he takes it in stride.

His fellow magizoologist, on the other hand, is clear in her confidence and pride. Isha is a relatively plain woman, but well-dressed and clearly intelligent. She’s shorter even than Queenie, but with the way she carries herself she seems even taller. She shakes hands firmly all around. “A pleasure to meet you,” she says.

“Likewise,” Newt says. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

“I think we’ve met more magizoologists since coming to India than I thought existed in the world,” Percival says.

Isha smiles. “We have one of the world’s most significant natural heritages,” she says. “And there is objection to allowing the more…rapacious Muggles near to the wonders of our country.”

“Magizoology came from this part of the world,” Newt says, looking obliquely at the others. “At least the idea of using it for protection and conservation, rather than for…”

“Extermination?” Tina asks wryly. She’s never quite gotten over the fact that their first meeting involved that assumption about Newt’s profession, though Newt forgave her for it almost immediately.

“Exactly,” Isha says.

Credence raises a hand. “Sorry if this sounds stupid, but if there are magizoologists, why ask Newt to come in?”

She looks exasperated as she circles the desk, unfolding a map on it. “Everyone else is too busy with other issues to come in, and I’d rather not fight a Runespoor alone. I’m only academically familiar with the beasts, whereas Scamander…rumor has it you’ve got one in that suitcase you’re carrying.”

Instinctively, Newt tightens his grip on the handle, sliding the suitcase slightly behind him. “I don’t anymore,” he says. “He was released back into the wild.”

“But you _know_ them,” Isha says, a definite gleam in her eye. “And this is definitely a Runespoor. I identified its location by getting a good long look at it while it was eating a cow. What I’ll need help with is actually catching it.”

“Of course,” Newt says. “I’ll back you up—will you want other assistance?”

Critically, Isha looks over the others. “Are any of them trained magizoologists?”

“Tina is,” Percival says, and Newt smiles. The pride in his voice is evident.

“I can vouch for her ability,” Newt says. “We’ve been traveling together two years. Though it should be said that no one here is particularly inexperienced…”

“Oh?” Isha folds her arms. “Well. Will any of them be joining us?”

“I’m not going,” Queenie says with a wave. “I’d be no use at all. I can mind the suitcase.”

Jacob nods. “You ain’t going to want me on this.”

“And I’ll stay behind,” Percival says. Newt sees the way he looks and Queenie and Jacob: he’s nervous of leaving them alone. As always, seeing him so protective makes Newt’s heart feel three sizes too big for his chest.

“Very well,” Isha says. “I asked a local Parselmouth to look in on the situation when I first located it, and it wouldn’t speak to him.”

Newt shakes his head. “It must be badly hurt if it won’t speak,” he murmurs.

Isha points at the map, on the eastern coast of the city. “It’s taken up a nest in one of the mangrove swamps,” she says. “It will be a nasty trek through _that._ ”

It is, in fact, a nasty trek.

Navigation of the swamp requires a boat, and therefore a local boater, whose boat has a modern motor on it. No one makes a production of the fact that he’s a Muggle, though Newt does see Tina take a few deep breaths before she lets it go. The water is murky, muddy and shallow; trees with deep green leaves stand up from it with knots of immensely long, slender roots. The canals they travel are so narrow that sometimes the boat, which barely fits all five of them, has to back up and move around to a new channel.

Isha and Newt sit side by side in the front, Newt with his knees jammed together, Isha wearing much more muted, masculine clothes than the brilliant sari she’d worn earlier. Tina and Credence occupy the space right behind them, and the boater manages the motor in the back. They keep as quiet as possible as they travel, the thrum of the motor the only real sound except for occasional soft conversation. If the serpent hears them coming, it will flee.

“The Runespoor will be easy to spot,” Newt murmurs back to Tina and Credence. “It’s quite a brilliant orange, with black stripes.”

“It’s _really_ easy to see. The specimen is perhaps fifteen feet long,” Isha says.

Newt’s eyes pop. He shakes his head. “Fifteen feet? That’s the second largest specimen I’ve ever seen…how did it ever survive that long? Runespoors usually eat themselves by that time…”

Isha shrugs and leans forward, peering into the swamp ahead. “That’s a question for later, I think,” she says.

Tina spots the Runespoor first. She hisses frantically to shut off the motor, and Isha relays that to the boater. They drift, slowly; Tina leans forward between Isha and Newt to point up ahead at a high sandbar, where a stripe of orange occupies a patch of sun.

“Why’s it just lying there?” Tina asks.

Newt scans the sweep of the serpent. No, it isn’t moving. Not one head is active. “It’s probably lost in thought,” he says. “That happens sometimes.”

They watch it for a long moment, drifting on the water. There’s no current, so the boat doesn’t move too far. At last, Tina asks, “What do we cast?”

“Stunners,” Newt murmurs.

Drawing her wand, Isha nods. “We’ll have to hit it all at once—if you can maximize it…”

“We’re going to flip the boat if we do that!” Credence whispers. “The force alone—”

Isha turns around and looks at him flatly. “Do you _want_ ,” she says softly, “to have to fight that thing while wading around at half speed in mud and water?”

Credence sighs. “No,” he mutters.

Tina, who has the most experience with group fighting, counts them off. They’re at a bit of a distance, but Newt has a maximized Stunning Spell and of course Credence is Credence. The Runespoor doesn’t know what hits it.

Getting it back into the city is a trick, but Isha knows what to do and the channels to take, and Newt’s happy to follow her direction. He’s not going to carry it off in the suitcase: the poor thing is badly injured and has just been hit by four very powerful Stunning Spells. It needs care, and Isha’s Parselmouth contact is quite happy to take it in.

“We’ll ship it back where it belongs once it recuperates,” Isha says.

Newt strokes the ridged nose of one of the unconscious snake’s heads. “Sending it home?”

Isha nods. “I hear that they’re planning to make the forests where they live Unplottable.”

“Probably. It’s…regrettable that we have to take such measures,” Newt says. He looks down at the great serpent. Sixteen feet, as it turns out: it truly is the second largest specimen that Newt’s ever met. But if it won’t talk, they will never know just how it survived to grow so huge. The thought is painful, so he moves on. “Did you catch up to the traffickers?”

“That I left up to the Aurors,” Isha says. “You may be comfortable with vigilante justice, Scamander, but not all of us are willing to be outlaws.”

“Oh, and the Indian Ministry has _very_ good Aurors,” Tina says warmly. “I think we can be sure that no one will be taking Runespoors where they aren’t supposed to be anymore.”

Isha smiles. “One can hope,” she says. “I always do.”

Newt tries.

He really does.

But that night, after a delicious dinner during which Credence regales them all with the story of the swamp, when Newt and Tina have tumbled into bed and lost themselves in some happy post-adventure activity, after they’ve dressed again and Tina is fast asleep in Newt’s arms, he can’t help but think of the Runespoor. The poor creature had been snatched up from its native habitat and carried across a continent and an ocean, bound for who knows where. It had been so hurt that it will no longer speak, and may never try again. If it can’t recuperate, it will never go home.

And the most heartbreaking thing, to Newt, is just how many creatures of the world face the same situation. Muggle encroachment, wizard indolence—it’s enough to drive him to despair. He and Qasim and Isha, and other magizoologists or concerned citizens around the world, are fighting the same fight. They’re doing what they can.

What they can do doesn’t seem as if it will ever be enough.

Newt buries his face in Tina’s hair and holds her close. Just now, this has to be enough. He saved the Runespoor, today; he has a suitcase full of creatures who are living better lives, protected from other people. He’s doing what he can. And he always, always will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bombay, 1930: You can actually watch film of it [Check it out here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bkTd6dg_LQ4%20here</a>.%20Silent%20film%20from%20the%20Huntley%20Archives,%20gives%20a%20sort%20of%20general%20visual%20of%20what%20they%E2%80%99re%20seeing%20as%20they%20walk%20through%20the%20city.%20The%20city%20is%20now%20Mumbai,%20due%20to%20controversy%20in%20the%20late%2020th%20century%20over%20the%20fact%20that%20%E2%80%9CBombay%E2%80%9D%20is%20a%20mispronunciation%20of%20the%20city's%20real%20name%20that%20should%20not%20have%20probably%20stuck,%20but%20did%20anyway.%20*insert%20inevitable%20irritation%20about%20imperialism*%0A%0AThe%20%E2%80%9Cmutterings%20of%20revolution%E2%80%9D%20wouldn%E2%80%99t%20hit%20in%20force%20until%20the%20late%20spring%20of%201930;%20at%20this%20moment%20in%20the%20story,%20it%E2%80%99s%20*maybe*%20early%20February.%20That%20revolution,%20specifically,%20was%20the%20Salt%20March.%20Begun%20by%20Gandhi,%20the%20march%20was%20a%20protest%20in%20civil%20disobedience%20against%20British%20taxes%20on%20salt%20production.%20After%2024%20days%20of%20marching%20to%20a%20small%20coastal%20village,%20Gandhi%20broke%20the%20salt%20laws%20by%20producing%20his%20own%20salt.%20A%20resistance%20movement%20sparked%20across%20the%20country.%20%0A%0AYes,%20Isha%E2%80%99s%20Hogwarts%20education%20is%20a%20somewhat%20thorny%20issue.%20Why%20wasn%E2%80%99t%20she%20educated%20in%20her%20home%20state?%20Well%E2%80%A6many%20well-to-do%20Indian%20families%20sent%20their%20children%20\(sons\)%20off%20to%20school%20in%20England%20so%20they%20could%20have%20a%20European%20education.%20It%20doesn%E2%80%99t%20seem%20beyond%20the%20pale%20to%20me%20that%20a%20similar%20thing%20might%20happen%20in%20the%20magical%20community.%20%0A%0AThe%20closest%20historical%20map%20of%20Bombay%20I%20could%20track%20down%20is%20one%20from%201909.%20<a%20href=).


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah, next to last chapter...time does fly! A short, sweet, and somewhat silly chapter after the heaviness of that last one. And also…some big news.
> 
> The Hypothetical Sequel is complete.
> 
> It still doesn't have a title, because I suck at those.
> 
> But it's complete.
> 
> I wrote a novel, you guys.
> 
> And this time it wasn't an accident. :)

Queenie holds her hat to her head and looks out over the bow of the ship. “I can’t believe we’re already going to _Australia_!”

“Time flies,” Graves says. The open ocean ahead of them is clear, and even though the sun is setting, and night is coming on, the temperature is only falling a little. It’s easy to forget that, up in the northern hemisphere, it’s winter.

At Graves’ elbow, Queenie’s hand tightens minutely. “I don’t want this to end,” she murmurs.

“Nor do I,” Graves says. “But let’s think about that later, hm?”

Queenie lets go of him and leans upon the railing, looking down into the water. “You’re right,” she says. “Where’ve the others gone off to?”

“Credence roped them into playing cards, I think,” Graves says. “He wanted Rook but I heard something about Exploding Snap.”

“Exploding Snap! On a _ship_?”

Graves laughs. “I trust Jacob not to let the other three set the ship on fire.”

They aren’t sailing by ocean liner or steamship to Australia. They’d crossed from Bombay to Calcutta, overland. From there, they’d set out with a friend of Newt’s—the captain of a small sailing ship who guided the vessel by conjured winds—heading for the port at Darwin, Australia. The entire journey will take a fortnight—somewhat longer than if they’d been aboard a larger commercial vessel, but safer for a crew of witches and wizards.

It’s the beginning of March, and all is smooth sailing as they go south. Graves hasn’t been on a boat for two and a half years, and is pleased that he still has his “sea legs”. Newt and Queenie have to take potions to ward off seasickness every morning, but after the first day of nausea Jacob, Tina, and Credence have all recovered.

He and Queenie stroll down the deck, arm in arm. It’s pleasant just to be with her; she makes good company. “How’s the social climate of Diagon Alley?” Graves asks, looking down at her. They haven’t discussed that much, being far too busy with the adventures they’re having together now. And Graves is curious. Queenie was never a socialite in New York, but things change.

“Oh, just _keen_ ,” Queenie says. “Jacob goes out for drinks with friends at the Leaky Cauldron every Friday evening, and I finally got myself a book club at Flourish and Blotts. One of ’em is a Pure-Blood lady who just can’t shut up about how superior she is but we mostly ignore her.”

“Somehow I can’t imagine you ignoring someone who’s a bigot,” Graves says.

She looks up at him, eyes sparkling. “Well, we had a row once. And just because Flourish and Blotts won’t ban her doesn’t mean that Jacob and I can’t ban her from the bakery.”

Graves laughs. “That’s what I call sense.”

Queenie smiles, a touch smugly. “Sometimes we’ve got it,” she says.

They’re at the stern of the ship now, looking down into the water. Watching it lap at the hull is serene, and Graves thoroughly enjoys it. He looks up, at the blue sky above, and can’t help but marvel at it. “This whole voyage is like something out of a dream.”

“I know what you mean,” Queenie says. She leans against his shoulder, still looking down at the water. “I keep feeling like I’ll wake up and this never happened.”

“If that does happen,” Graves says, putting an arm around her, “it will have been a good dream, at least.”

“The best,” she says softly.

They stand in silence for a while. Below the deck, there are periodic explosions as the game of Exploding Snap gets out of hand. The conjured wind whispers in the sails, pushing them on toward Australia. After a few more minutes, the sun vanishes below the horizon, letting the brilliant stars shine down upon them from the black dome overhead. Queenie shivers when that happens, and Graves takes off his jacket to drape it around her. She rolls her eyes at him, but pulls it tighter around her bare shoulders anyway. He likes being able to do small things for Queenie like this. She’s a lady, the kind of person who’d inspire knights in her favor if this were a story.

The ship’s lights are just enough to illuminate it when something begins to move in the depths.

“What’s that?” Queenie asks, peering over the rail in alarm.

Graves pulls out his wand and holds it over the water. “Lumos,” he commands, and blue-white light flares. In its sharp relief, they can clearly see the nebulous outline of a massive jellyfish. It’s a deep periwinkle, with a knobbly crown and a wide bell. It must be two feet in diameter, at least; even from above, the gently pulsating frill and trailing tentacles are visible as the jellyfish drifts up to the surface.

“I’ve never seen one of those before,” Queenie says, leaning over the rail.

“Neither have I,” Graves says. He holds the wand lower, so there’s more light. “I’d assume it’s an ordinary creature…”

Queenie scoffs. “Ordinary? Look at the color! There’s a lot of things it might be, but ordinary ain’t one of them.”

The jellyfish moves serenely. They’re leaving it behind, though, and so Graves has to lean out further to see it clearly. He _feels_ the moment that it happens: he slips.

And goes over facefirst into the water.

After the heat of the air the cold water is a shock. Water goes up his nose and the air is knocked right out of him, but he does manage to close his eyes in time. He has the presence of mind _not_ to breathe in immediately, but his second thought after breaking the surface and gasping for air is that he’s in the water with a _jellyfish_ and he needs to _not get stung_.

On deck he hears people shouting and laughing. Graves manages to get his head up and start treading water—poorly, it’s been a long damn time since he went properly swimming—and hears Queenie’s bright, gentle laughter beside Jacob and Credence shouting with it. He shakes his head to get the hair out of his eyes and looks to see all the rest clustered on the deck, Newt and Tina leaning over the rail toward him.

“Swim for it!” Tina calls.

Graves doesn’t bother trying to respond, since every time he opens his mouth water splashes in and chokes him. He swims to the side of the boat, where Tina and Newt haul him back up on deck. He lies back on the deck in a pool of salty water, still feeling the shock of the fall.

“What were you doing?” Tina asks, laughing.

“There was a jellyfish,” Queenie says.

Credence rolls his eyes. “And you fell in looking at it?”

“I think it must have been worth it,” Newt says bracingly.

Graves sits up, wringing out the hem of his shirt. “It was,” he says. “It was a nice dip.”

Jacob hands Graves a towel, which he uses to start drying his hair. “Maybe we can all go swimming off the boat tomorrow,” he says.

“I’d be fine with that,” Tina volunteers.

“I’ll pass,” Credence says, “but sunbathing…”

Queenie swats his arm. “You’re already sunburned!”

“You are okay, yeah?” Jacob asks as Graves hands back the towel.

“I’m fine,” Graves says with a shrug. “It was just a small fall, nothing too bad.”

Tina helps him up, tapping him on the shoulder and casting a Drying Charm. “Come on down and play cards with us,” she says. “Jacob’s teaching us all to play poker.”

Credence nods vigorously. “I’m _terrible_ at it,” he says. “Come on and join in so I can feel better about myself.”

Queenie laughs and takes his hand. “Lead on,” she says, and follows him down.

Graves follows, too, bringing up the rear as Tina, Newt, and Jacob descend. He’s never played poker before, but the principle can’t be that different from other strategic games of chance. And even if he loses—well, he’s already lost all his dignity today anyway, falling facefirst into the ocean. There are worse things than a game of cards to lose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here's a whoooooooole lot of pictures of the Crown Jellyfish](https://seaunseen.com/crowned-jellyfish/).


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY. A serious thought: if you don't know by now, Net Neutrality is having some Troubles. It is probably in your best interest, if you're American, to CALL THE FUCKING FCC and CALL YOUR FUCKING SENATORS AND REPRESENTATIVES. Information can be found here: https://www.battleforthenet.com/
> 
> Additionally, on a banal note, download your favorite fics. You have time, but it's worth a preemptive strike, I think, and you should be downloading them anyway. PDFs are available; I encourage you to download all of The Accidental Epic if you enjoy it. 
> 
> <3<3<3
> 
> (Also: in this chapter, to clear up confusion, the thoughts Queenie hears are in _italics_.)

Australia is very big.

And very empty.

They’re out in the middle of nowhere, on some cattle station in the middle of the emptiness of the continent. It’s having trouble with Hoop Snakes. It’s a vast not-quite-desert, particularly green due to the glorious afternoon storms. The orange earth stretches out flat from horizon to horizon, broken occasionally by mesas under the clear blue dome of the sky. It’s beautiful.

And boring.

Newt is having fun tearing around after the graziers, and Jacob—who has an affinity for these kinds of wide-open spaces—is off with him. They’re tracking the Hoop Snakes, trying to find the nest; the rolling snakes don’t eat people, but when stepped on by a cow they sting with harsh venom that kills the cow virtually on contact. Having too many Hoop Snakes on the station isn’t good for business, and so even though these graziers are No-Majs, they need help. Tina and Percival had both made a certain number of faces at Newt’s garbled explanation of the Statute of Secrecy in Australia—apparently, outside the cities, enforcement barely exists—but the end story is that they’re staying on the station while Newt helps deal with the snake nest.

Queenie is bored beyond words.

She truly is a city girl. New York, Chicago, St. Louis, London, Cairo, Bombay, Calcutta—all of them gave her energy, a feeling of zest that nowhere else ever really does. There’s so many people, so many thoughts, so much noise. Even if she can’t understand what she’s hearing because it’s in the wrong language or if the person is hard to read—there’s never a sense of being alone. Sure, it can give her headaches sometimes, but she’d rather have that than the big blank _emptiness_ that happens out here in the middle of the Australian bush.

“Is this what it’s like, always having dead silence in your head?” Queenie asks Tina one pleasant evening, shortly after their arrival. It’s a conversation they’ve had before, but those kind of conversations are often the best of all, especially between sisters.

“I think so,” Tina says. She stretches her legs out on the wooden porch floor, still warm from the heat of the day, despite the fact that it’s past dark. _All alone with your thoughts at night._ “You’re all by yourself.”

“It’s lonely,” Queenie says. 

Tina shrugs. “Yeah,” she says. “Kind of wish I could be like you, sometimes.” _Hear everything and never be alone._

“No, you’d get impatient with everyone.”

“You think she could be more impatient than she already is?” Credence asks, coming out through the creaking screen door. His feet thud hollowly on the porch floor as he steps over Tina’s legs to sit down on the steps. _STATIC STATIC sensible STATIC_

Queenie laughs at the face Tina’s making. “He’s got a point.”

“He does _not_!” Tina objects. _Rude!_

They’re staying in a guest house, one meant for hired hands on the station. It’s crowded, but they’re out of the way of the people in the main house and the hired hands. Except for Newt, they’re the most useless visitors: they can’t do _anything_ to help. There’s nothing to see, nothing to do. They’ve seen kangaroos a time or two since arriving, but other than that, remarkable flora and fauna are few and far between. Maybe Queenie just isn’t enough of a naturalist, to appreciate the mundane kinds of things, but the point remains.

_STATIC stars_ “I like being out here,” Credence says. “It’s lonely, but…”

“Shut up, hermit boy,” Tina says with a laugh. _You live on a mountain!_

“Just ain’t much to do, while Newt’s off having adventures,” Queenie says. She glances at Tina and skims the surface of her thoughts. “You didn’t go with him ’cause you don’t like the heat?”

Tina wrinkles her nose. _I’m getting freckles._ “I’ve been sunburned since Mozambique,” she says. “If I get to hide in a house for a while, while he runs around chasing snakes? Thanks, I’ll take it.”

“I’m finally catching up on writing. This trip has given me a lot to think about,” Credence says. He absently begins chewing at the end of a lock of hair. _revolution and reformation STATIC_

It’s given Queenie a lot to think about, too, and mostly what it boils down to is this: she doesn’t want this journey to end, but at the same time she can already feel them pulling apart. They’ve all got their own lives. Lives that are good, and happy, and calm. Lives that make some kind of sense. Graves has peace, someone to protect, and space to sort himself out. Credence has unconditional love, a place to learn his magic and himself. Jacob’s got a career, friends, and some small fame. Newt’s got—well, the life he always had, only with Tina now. Tina has adventure and a chance to get out in the world and make something of herself.

And Queenie…well, she’s got a city full of thoughts, and a chance to be herself, and the confidence to be that person. It’s a good life. More importantly, it’s hers.

She goes for a walk alone the next day. It’s blazing hot even in the morning, but by this point she’s quite used to it, having spent months in the tropical regions of the world. Still, Queenie’s glad for her short hair and hat.

The bush around is wild, even if she doesn’t go far from the main homestead. It’s a nice walk, even if rather lonesome. The further she gets from the homestead, the less she can hear anyone else, until even the familiar alto of Tina’s thoughts and the Obscurus-static screech of Credence’s thoughts are gone entirely. And then it feels less like being lonely, and more like being alone.

Queenie pauses once to watch a big, fluffy bird with bright blue edges on its wings preening in a tree. It pays her no mind, picking at its breast feathers and under its wings with great care. The kookaburras are sweet birds, and Newt is enthusiastic about assuring them that if they reach the far coast of Australia they’ll be able to hear a species that laughs. But eventually the bird flies off, and Queenie continues walking.

Suddenly, she hears someone else thinking.

She stops in her tracks, listening hard. There are no audible footsteps or voices, but Queenie can pick up four—no, _six_ —distinct and unfamiliar sets of thoughts. She waits for a long moment, listening, and then slowly hears the sound of people coming nearer. And then she picks up their real thoughts:

_…go in while all the men are gone…_

_…no one to defend the place…_

_…not many guns…_

_…get the money and go…_

It’s lucky that Queenie’s been practicing Apparation.

She pops into existence right in front of the guest house with a violent crack. “Come out! Come out, quick!” she shouts.

There’s the sound of running footsteps and then Credence bursts out the door, a pen shoved behind his ear and wand in his hand. “What is it!?” _STATIC STATIC STATIC STATIC_

“There’re robbers—coming to the house while everyone’s gone—where’s the rest?” Queenie asks, looking around frantically.

_STATIC STATIC STATIC_ “Oh, damn—Tina and Percival went with Newt and Jacob to go see some rock formations or something, I don’t know!”

“And is there anyone around with a gun!?” Queenie demands. She’s faint with panic, and the shadows pooled around Credence’s feet are twisting uncomfortably.

Credence shakes his head. “No—I don’t think so, it’s just us.” _you and me STATIC_

Queenie takes a deep breath. “Well,” she says, “we’re just gonna have to do it ourselves.”

The two of them take up a position behind one of the sheds near the property line, in the direction Queenie knows they’re coming from. It’s four men, armed and dangerous and ready to shoot: this isn’t exactly something they haven’t dealt with before. But there’s always been Percival and Tina and Newt between them and a foe, and she can hear Credence’s raging nerves.

“If I crack—I’m going to have to run,” he tells her, eyes wide. _STATIC too much STATIC_ “I don’t want to kill them.”

“Honey,” Queenie says, gripping his hand, “they’ll want to kill you. Maybe forget about your principles for a minute or two here.”

The would-be robbers don’t know what hit them.

Queenie hears them coming and she and Credence are ready before they’re within shooting distance of the fence. Queenie’s not very good at fighting spells and Credence doesn’t want to use his real firepower, so they’re a bit hampered. Still, none of the men are expecting Credence to burst from cover without warning, shouting, “ _Stupefy!_ ”

The spell hits one of the robbers square in the chest and he topples, actually blown backward by the force of the spell. The shock is enough for Queenie to step out, a blaze of white panic in her head, and cry, “Protego!”

Her shield preempts the first shot just long enough for Credence to lash out a Trip Jinx at one of the men and hurl up his own shield.

Then they’re side by side and Credence’s thoughts are clear and focused like Queenie’s never heard them. She can read him before he moves, read the robbers before they move, preempt every shot with a shield and even, once, get off a weak Blasting Curse. Credence is aggressive and _fast_ , and though neither of them can cast Percival’s bullet-blocking Shield Charm their combined speed is enough to see out the fight.

One man goes down, then another—a Jelly-Legs Jinx, a Stunning Spell, a simple projectile thrown—and just as fast as it started, it’s over. By the time the others come back, the robbers have been securely trussed up in preparation to be hauled to the nearest town with a jail. Queenie and Credence are lounging together outside, flush with victory; it’s gratifying to see the shocked pride on Tina’s face when Credence enthusiastically explains Queenie’s strategy and competence.

“You’ve done—very well,” Newt says, clapping her on the shoulder. _Much better than I’d have ever expected._ “Next time I’ve got to deal with creature smugglers, perhaps I should take you along.”

“I don’t think I’d be much good at that,” Queenie says. She smiles up at him. “Keep Tina for that.”

Yes, Queenie decides that night over dinner: this adventure’s a good one. But it’s funny: the last time that they’d set off like this, they’d had nowhere else to go back to. Home had been a suitcase, the hands of friends, the open road. None of them had wanted to stay. This time it’s different. Though Newt and Tina will be back on the road, there’s a flat in Diagon Alley and a house in Russia waiting for the rest. At the end of this, Queenie and Jacob will take off their shoes and dance in socked feet in the dining room of the flat; Credence will work on his essays while Percival reads at the table.

The long and short of it is this:

They are still family, but their feet don’t belong on the road anymore.

And that, Queenie thinks, looking around the table, is just the way it should be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For my American friends: “station” correlates to “ranch”, while “grazier” correlates to “rancher”.
> 
> The blue-winged kookaburra: cute little bird! https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blue-winged_kookaburra


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter!

They can’t feel the moment when the suitcase bumps to the ground, but Credence imagines it anyway. Newt took a Portkey from Sydney, Australia, with all of them in the suitcase; they should have landed in the village down the mountain from Percival and Credence’s house. He feels a pang, when Newt opens the suitcase.

“We’ve arrived,” he says, and steps back to let Percival climb out.

The day is warm and pleasant around them. Jacob helps Credence haul the bags out of the suitcase, and Credence drops them a little away from the suitcase. “Wouldn’t want them mixed up,” Jacob says with a smile. It looks a little fragile. Credence can relate; he _feels_ fragile.

While Percival and Newt say their goodbyes, Tina hugs Credence tight, and in his turn Credence hugs Queenie. His _sisters_ , he thinks; Queenie catches it, and her eyes fill up with tears. “Aw, honey…”

“It’s true,” Credence says, managing a smile. He holds tight to Tina’s hand and to Queenie’s and looks at them both. “I never got to be anyone’s little brother, and then I landed the best big sisters God could have given me.”

He hears Percival making his goodbyes to Jacob; lots of hand-shaking, back-thumping, and promises to write each other. Credence turns to Newt, while Percival, Tina, and Queenie talk. “Thank you,” Credence says. “It was good. To be on the road with you again.”

Newt ducks his head and smiles. “It was good to have you around,” he says. “The suitcase felt a little less empty.”

“Oh,” Credence murmurs. He half opens his arms, to hug Newt, but he hesitates. Newt doesn’t, though, giving Credence a brief, heartfelt squeeze.

Jacob hugs Credence, too. “You Fire-Call any time,” he says, meeting Credence’s eyes.

They don’t speak of it, but there are secrets between them, things Jacob knows about Credence that even Percival doesn’t know. Credence nods. “I will,” he says. “Good luck with the bakery.”

“Aw, Millie and Hubert will have kept it all running,” Jacob says, grinning.

“We must get going,” Newt says. “The Portkey won’t wait.”

“Right,” Tina says. She squares her shoulders. “See you again soon.”

Percival’s arm slides around Credence’s waist. “Travel safe,” he says.

And then, just like that, the other four are gone.

For a long moment or two, Credence and Percival simply stand and watch the empty space where their friends were standing. Credence isn’t really sure what to say or do. He and Percival haven’t truly been alone in a while, and it feels like there’s a barrier between them. It’s silly, and Credence knows that it will fade the longer they’re home. But for now…

They don’t exchange words as they pick up their bags and begin the hike up the path to the house. Credence doesn’t think there’s much to say. Clearly, Percival doesn’t either.

Dusk is falling as they come back up the hill toward the house, which is waiting for them, windows dark and door locked. Percival unlocks the door and they step inside, footsteps ringing out hollowly. The house feels unlived-in, foreign; but Credence goes in and turns on the stove, with intent to make something for dinner, and Percival opens all the windows to air out the house.

They have toast and tomato soup for dinner, eaten in a comfortable silence. Credence thinks of Tina and Queenie, Newt and Jacob, likely having dinner in the flat in Diagon Alley. It makes him glad to think of it. They’re warm and safe and happy, and so is he, even if there’s a small ache in his chest.

After dinner they unpack. Percival sends clothes flying to their rightful places in the closet and the wardrobe; Credence manages the books and papers and souvenirs they acquired along the way. He arranges those last objects on an empty shelf in the study, in order of their travels, handling each object with care.

Percival joins him, when he’s finished unpacking. They sit on the small sofa in the yellow light of the lamp, where they expect to be even after all this time. Credence folds up into Percival’s arms, safe and warm; Percival’s contented hum says that he’s comfortable, too.

After a long while like this, Credence draws a deep breath. “Well, we’re back.”

“We’re home,” Percival says gently.

Credence smiles and rests his head on Percival’s chest. “Yes,” he says. “We’re home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's a wrap!!! 
> 
> So: things of a serious nature. Assuming that December 14 doesn't mark the Apocalypse (that is, the FCC deciding to shred Net Neutrality), I plan to begin posting again in this series on January 1 (probably at midnight because I'm a melodramatic lil bitch) with the Hypothetical Sequel itself to begin posting on April 1 (again, I'm a melodramatic lil bitch). IF Net Neutrality is voted down...well, there's a whole series of what-ifs that follow, and I'll walk you through them.
> 
> There is fairly good reason to believe that even if the FCC votes down Title II protections that nothing will change for literal _years_. The decision will face legal challenges (I promise you that the Big Names of the Internet are already preparing to take a shot) as well as, you know, actual policy creation, and based on the US government's history with any kind of policy creation we'll have some delay time. AND, if things manage to go truly correct, there's a chance that we could actually see a new FCC director in place BEFORE ANYTHING EVEN HAPPENS because we will hopefully be voting out the current administration and someone slightly saner can appoint someone who isn't in the pocket of the ISPs.
> 
> However, if it looks immediately grim, my plan is to post the Hypothetical Sequel in *giant* installments over about two days immediately following the decision so people can get to it. 
> 
> You'll have it in your hands no mater what. It's complete and, though unbeta'd, I am reasonably certain that you'll enjoy what I wrote. 
> 
> And if you want to avoid the contingency plan?
> 
> For fuck's sake, Americans, CALL YOUR FUCKING REPRESENTATIVES AND CALL THE FUCKING FCC. ResistBot can be used for senators and representatives; battleforthenet will connect you; and you can find FCC contact information everywhere. Get active. Show them what democracy looks like. 
> 
> It's a ridiculous appeal but: do you honestly, honestly think that the characters you're reading about here or _anywhere_ wouldn't take action? Do you honestly believe that they wouldn't be fighting with everything they have to Do The Right Thing? Do you honestly believe that they would lay down and die even when things are at their worst? If I've inspired _anyone_ with anything I've written so far, this is a moment when I am actually calling for action. 
> 
> FIGHT. Get out there and _FIGHT_. It's not just about fandoms. It's about people losing their jobs or their healthcare. It's about small businesses and nonprofits losing everything because they can no longer afford to maintain upkeep costs. Do you like Wikipedia? Good luck going back to encyclopedias for your information! This will affect school fees, housing fees--everything. When you make those calls--WHEN, not if--do not talk about fandoms. Yes, that can be a worry, but you must worry _more_ about the big issues. 
> 
> Oh, and also? The UN says that unobstructed internet access qualifies as a human right. 
> 
> Fucking fight for your _human rights_. 
> 
> Do the right thing. 
> 
> I'm making a phone call immediately after this posts. 
> 
> You do it, too. 
> 
> <3<3<3


End file.
